


afterimages

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Gen, I do what I want, philip is not the product of elams, please give me prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6257686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because Aaron Burr was haunted by the duel didn't mean that life had to be so literal about it.</p><p>or</p><p>How to deal with the ghost of the guy you shot and a lot of other dead people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i take prompts

Aaron Burr was haunted by the duel. The shot had ripped through the air, cracking the morning silence and rushing away the life of Alexander Hamilton. Burr hadn’t slept in weeks, going through the motions of life, mind separated from his body.

_He was aiming for the sky._

Aaron Burr was _literally_ haunted by the duel. The irony of it all was a little more than on-the-nose.

_Aaron Burr was **literally** haunted._

It had begun early one morning, awoken by the clatter of the street and voices.

“Calm down, Alex.” Someone said. Burr blinked awake, eyes wide. _There was no way -_

Burr hadn’t heard him in _decades,_ a flood of memories rush through, but isn’t it _impossible_ _?_

 _Well! Well I heard you’ve got a special someone on the side Burr,_ and _The challenge demands satisfaction, if they apologize no need for further action!_ and _Raise a glass to freedom, something they can never take away, no matter what they tell you -_

There was no way. There was no way in _hell_ -

“I will _not_ calm down, he’s doing absolutely _nothing_!” A familiar voice. One _far too_ familiar and _impossible_ for Burr’s liking or comfort.

“Typically, it takes a while for one to recover from causing someone’s death.” Laurens says, _but it was impossible for it to be Laurens because Laurens died in 1782 on the battlefield **you saw the letter**. _

“Who cares! It’s been _months -_ he should be doing _something!_ ” Hamilton _it can’t be him he cannot possibly be -_

“What the hell.” The words escape Burr’s mouth before he can think about them.

The two turn around, blinking in surprise.

“Can he… see us?” Laurens whispers to Hamilton, keeping his eyes on Burr. Laurens wears a tattered revolutionary uniform, his body slightly too bright to fit in with the rest of the room.

Hamilton shrugs _and it was definitely Hamilton_ but there was something different, younger like during the war (he’s wearing that brown coat) but he’s more tired and strangely shimmery, like Burr was seeing through a hazy veil, but _dear lord there was a hole straight through his ribs._

Hamilton stares at Burr, eyebrow raised, “Can you see us?” He asked, and Burr can only gape in response.

Hamilton sighs, “That isn’t even remotely helpful. Just… nod if you can see us. Do _something_.”

Burr slowly nods, and Hamilton smiles.“Well, that’s new.” He says, and Laurens stares at Burr.

“You can actually see us? That’s - _how?_ ” Laurens asks, and Burr doesn’t have a proper answer because _clearly_ he has gone stark raving mad.

I mean, how _else_ would he see the ghosts of his dead friends in his bedroom? Perhaps the duel had weathered away his mind, leaving apparitions in the place of anything remotely sensible. _It’s just your imagination, or a dream -_

“I’m glad there’s something else to do around here, do you how dull being a ghost is? My god, I would rather spend time with _Jefferson,_ at least he has _new_ things to say, no matter how ridiculous they may be.” Hamilton says, and Laurens smiles.

_Well, they’re very accurate apparitions._

Laurens turns to face Burr, smiling, “It is rather nice to speak to someone who isn’t dead. Alex is right, nothing ever happens around here.”

Burr continues to stare.

“What’s wrong Burr, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Hamilton taunts, waiting for some kind of response. “Why isn’t he answering?” He whispers to Laurens.

“Perhaps it isn’t the best time for _gallows_ humor.” Laurens responds, smiling.

“Yes, maybe that was a _grave_ mistake.”

Burr continues to stare.

Hamilton waits for it ( _it_ being any kind of response.)

Finally, after an eternity of uncomfortable stares, Burr manages to choke out a question, “How is this possible?”

Laurens shrugs, “Who knows! I’ve been dead for decades, and I still haven’t figured out how ghosts are possible. Alex is desperate to find out, though.”

“Pops! There you are, I’ve been looking -“

Burr looks at the new arrival, _why are there so many dead people in my house?_

Philip Hamilton stops, looking at the room. He wears a dark blue coat, and there’s a gaping hole in his chest.

Burr, still in his nightclothes, stares at the trio of things that are there but really shouldn’t be. Philip turns back to Hamilton, “Is… something going on?”

Hamilton gestures towards Burr, “He can see us!”

“I’ve gone mad,” Burr whispers, lying back down, “I’ve gone mad and none of this is real.”

“See Philip, this is how you _don’t_ greet the ghost of someone you’ve shot. Don’t be like Burr.” Hamilton says, and Philip raises his eyebrow.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Pops.” Philip deadpans, and Laurens laughs.

“So,” Hamilton says, straightening his posture and facing Burr, “you need to get out of bed and do things.”

Burr lies back into bed, “I do not need a figment of my imagination attempting to care of my health,” he mutters, hopefully only to himself.

“Is it really so hard to believe we’re real?” Hamilton says to the other two apparitions.

“Yes.” The two say back.

Hamilton sighs, “Nevertheless, Burr is just wasting time acting like this! I don’t _care_ if he shot me, it’s no excuse for laziness.”

_It’s not real, it will go away._

* * *

 

It doesn’t go away. One week later and Hamilton is still trailing after Burr, complaining loudly and arguing with Jefferson even though Jefferson cannot respond. Sometimes Hamilton is accompanied by Philip or Laurens, and it’s even worse with Laurens egging Hamilton on.

It’s driving Burr _insane._

Well, more insane than before.

He refuses to speak to the ghosts until one night, Burr eating dinner while Laurens and Philip watch with glee as Hamilton dissects and disassembles every point of Jefferson’s newest idea.

“- and _that_ is why Jefferson shouldn’t have been re-elected. Honestly, he has no idea what he’s doing. Now, for my next point -“

“Dear god, can’t you _stop talking?_ ” Burr breaks, “Why do you insist on continuously bothering me even after _death!”_

“You should’ve shot him in the mouth, that would’ve shut him up.” Laurens mutters, and _Burr can’t take it anymore._ Burr storms away, leaving behind a room of afterimages.

 

 

The streets are mostly empty at night, something Burr has always appreciated. Finally, alone with his thoughts, without the discussion and chatter of people who should have been silent and six feet under.

“Hey, uh, Mister Burr, sir?” The ghost of Philip Hamilton asks, filing behind Burr.

“…Well, I guess this must be pretty strange for you, ghosts and all that. I can’t really relate, being, y’know, already dead?” Philip continues, despite Burr’s lack of response. Philip waits, “I don’t think Pops or D- Mister Laurens really know either. Mister Laurens has been dead for ages, and once you’re dead you don’t really… think it’s weird? It’s hard to explain. We’re all just excited because we don’t get to talk to anyone who isn’t dead. Things don’t ever change once you’re a ghost, and Pops hates it - he always wants to move forward, you know? He’s non-stop.”

Burr keeps walking, but his pace slows.

“Anyway, we can leave, if you want? For a while, I’m sure Pops will get it if I try and explain it.”

“You can stay.” Burr says, and he means it.

_I’m sure you need the company._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is historically inaccurate but i don't care

It takes a while for Burr to notice the way Laurens acts around Hamilton. Considering that he was preoccupied with the fact several dead people had appeared in his house one day, Burr thinks he can forgive himself.

The way Laurens and Hamilton stare into each other’s eyes, the shared glances, the smiles, Burr didn’t think much of it at first, they were always close when alive, but _now?_ They wrap their hands around each other’s waists, and Laurens doesn’t seem to mind when Philip accidentally calls him ‘Pops’ as well.

Neither does Hamilton.

On a particularly dull Autumn day, it takes a great deal of effort on Burr’s part to stay awake during the Senate. Hamilton and Laurens have been quieter ever since that night, but it would take a miracle for Hamilton stop arguing.

Despite this, the speeches are so incredibly boring, Hamilton has nothing to comment on, joining Burr and Laurens on resisting sleep. (Something Burr has many questions about - why sleep if you’re already dead?)

Burr’s attention strays towards the ghosts, Hamilton is staring at Laurens, a faint smile upon his face. Laurens leans in, and something clicks.

Burr’s eyes widen.

He doesn’t confront Laurens until several days after the meeting, while Hamilton is away doing god-knows-what ghosts do when they aren’t haunting their murderers. Burr’s mind whirls with the implications, _how, why, when?_

 

 

“What exactly is the relationship between you and Hamilton.” Burr corners Laurens, closing the door of his bedroom _(not that it would do any good, ghosts had the annoying tendency to be incorporeal.)_

“What do you mean?” Laurens asks, disguising his panic well enough to fool most. _He must have had practice._

“I’ve seen the way you two look at each other - what are you two doing?” Burr asks, stepping closer to Laurens. Laurens shuffles uncomfortably, looking away from Burr.

“It’s nothing! We’re close friends -” Laurens says.

“Don’t lie to me -”

“It’s nothing! You’re reading into things too much!“ Laurens stammers, his façade slipping, panic creeping into his voice.

“You two shouldn’t -“

“Nothing’s _happening!_ ” Laurens isn’t looking him in the eye.

“He has a _wife!_ “ Burr yells.

Something in Laurens snaps, “That - Eliza’s -“ Laurens is seething, “ _Haven’t you ever looked closely at Philip?_ “

Burr blinks, “Pardon?”

“Eliza, Alex, we’re all - we were…” Laurens gulps, “it’s nothing. Don’t… don’t worry about it.”

Laurens walks out the room through the door, shame-faced.

 

* * *

 

Burr takes a closer look at Philip, and _how had he not noticed it before? What am I supposed to do?_ He’s more confused than before, a swirling mass of thoughts like dazed butterflies, _and it’s not like he can go to Eliza and_ ** _ask_** _about it_.

Burr waits for an answer, watching the couple draw closer and touch foreheads. Hamilton smiles.

_Nobody needs to know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me live
> 
> also give me ,,, the PRompts


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i make shit up

In all honestly, Burr should have expected this.

The ghost of Alexander Hamilton is standing next to Burr’s writing desk, mournfully gazing upon the paper and pen. Burr sits and writes while a candle gently flickers.

“I had the most brilliant idea, Mister Burr, sir.” Hamilton says, trying and failing to act nonchalant.

“Is that so.” Burr says, without sparing a glance.

“Yes! You see, as a ghost, I cannot touch anything that is also not incorporeal - one of the many reasons I despise this state. This has proven difficult in my pursuits to write -“

“Let me guess, you want me to write down your thoughts.”

Hamilton pauses, before nodding, “ - and, perhaps, even, to publish them? There’s no need to put my name, after all, who would seriously read something under the name of a dead man, but I will write under a pseudonym.” He finishes triumphantly. Burr sighs.

“You write like you’re running out of time, and when you do, you still cannot put the pen down.” Burr says, turning to face Hamilton.

“Well, it’s the very least you could do.” Hamilton responds petulantly.

_Well, he’s got you there._

“Alright,” Burr says, “I’ll write your thoughts and publish them.”

Hamilton’s face brightens, and he faces towards the window, hands out like he’s picturing a new building across the street, “Excellent! Now, my first topic will be on abolitionism. With John by my side again, it’s reminded me of the lack of work I’ve done on the cause, and I cannot let this slide. Now, 'For too long -'"

Burr blinks, “Right now?”

Hamilton looks back at Burr, “Well, of course! When else would we start?”

_Of course._ “Never mind.”

Hamilton begins pacing around the room, eyes alive (well, maybe not _alive_ ) with the flame Burr had seen so many years ago, back in a tavern in 1776.

“For too long we have pushed aside the issue of abolitionism in favor of what we consider more ‘pressing’ matters, but this behavior should not be tolerated. After all, is there a more pressing issue than freedom, the very idea the founders sought and killed for? What makes one freedom more important than another?”

Hamilton speaks well into the night, with Laurens popping in to add his part. Laurens’ writing is not as clear nor as well-worded as Hamilton’s, but his passion and drive seem to reach even farther.

The article is sent and published, under the pen name Athana Laurence. It’s over ten pages long and perhaps has more detail than necessary, but Burr doesn’t edit a word of it.

* * *

Hamilton begs Burr to start another article the next night - god knows how long he must have been sitting on so many ideas.

“You are aware I have other things to write, right?” Burr asks when Hamilton floats into Burr’s office without warning, immediately beginning an article.

Hamilton stares at Burr like he’d never even considered the idea. _He probably hadn’t._

Burr thinks for a moment, “I have a proposition.”

Hamilton perks up, “Yes?”

“I will act as your scribe for one article a week, without complaint, and send them for publishing, but you must promise not to interfere with my other work.”

“One a week? Burr, you can’t seriously expect -“

“Once a week or nothing.”

“You could be a messenger between worlds! How many men have be privy to communication with the dead - you should be writing down everything I say!”

“If I did that, Hamilton, I would be broke from buying paper and pen.”

Hamilton sighs, “Alright, one article per week. I would offer to shake our hands, but,” he gestures to his ghostly body.

“Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it.” Burr says, focused again on his work.

“And why should I do that?” Hamilton asks jokingly.

“It’s the least I could do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> none of this was real please
> 
> anyway i wanted to end it with hamilton forcing burr to publish "the amorous intrigues and adventures of aaron burr" but it turns out that was published in 1861, and burr died sometime in the 1830s so it wouldn't work chronologically. i like to retain Some regard for the timeline
> 
> i say, as i continue writing a story about the ghost of alexander hamilton.
> 
> anyway send me prompts


End file.
